


Message in a Bottle

by LisaYourWorries



Category: Shameless (US), Shameless (US) RPF
Genre: First Anniversary, Fluff, M/M, Us - Freeform, Wedding Night, pure fluff, the beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisaYourWorries/pseuds/LisaYourWorries
Summary: A detour before the newlyweds head to their honeymoon suite.Updated with a second chapter for your reading pleasure. Happy Quarantine! Stay safe!
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 15
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever post on ao3. Please be honest.

We’d driven off into the sunset, neither of us having a destination. Sandy and Debs had booked us the honeymoon suite at the Sybaris as a wedding gift, but we weren’t in a rush to head there.

“Let’s go to the beach.” I suggested, my husband’s words from what felt like ages ago replaying themselves in my head.

  
_That’s what kept me going in the joint. The beach. Us._

  
He’d appeared to be thinking of the same thing as he gazed over at me. His eyes turned soft as they did, his lips barely moving. But the smile was there, as it always was. In the eyes.

He’d always been the most beautiful boy on the South Side to me. Hell, the city of Chicago.

And he was _mine_. 

  
_It means we take care of each other. It means thick and thin. Good times, bad. Sickness, health. All that shit_.

The same brokenhearted boy who’d said those words to me in front of my house. The one whom I’d walked away from then, and twice more after that. The boy who always came back to me. He was giving me a lifetime to make my wrongs right. 

  
A lifetime to love him how he deserved.

  
And I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

  
I’d let the smile in his eyes be my confirmation and directed us to Rainbow Beach. I idly wondered if his time in Mexico had taken him to the beach he’d dreamed of, and if he’d taken the time to learn how to swim. I smiled at the thought, thinking of him and his stocky body moving fluidly in ocean waters.

  
I reached my hand out over the center console, allowing him to thread his fingers through mine. He was lightyears away from the boy whose bedroom I’d burst into with a tire iron. The boy who’d flat out told me in so many words that I was delusional when I’d told him we’d had nothing to be ashamed of. 

That boy would’ve scoffed in disgust at today’s events.

  
I squeezed his hand when the thought made me, pulling into a parking spot at the lakefront. I hadn’t been in ages, but the city was stunning in the setting. The skyline looked like a postcard in the light, and I was grateful that I’d had my husband to share the moment with.

He’d jumped over the side, pulling out a bottle of cheap champagne from the floor of the backseat.

  
I huffed a laugh at the sight.

  
“What you waiting on, Gallagher?”

  
I couldn’t fight my smile as I opened the door to the car Liam (and Frank!) had gotten us for our big day. I threaded my fingers back through my husband’s and headed to the water. 

It wasn’t sunny Mexico. 

  
Not by a long shot.

  
It was forty degrees. Luckily the snow never came.

  
We stood together, taking swigs of the champagne, Mickey more so than I.

  
_Ay, you ever think back in the day, this is where we’d be?_

  
I breathed deeply, realizing that I’d wanted it back then. Hell, even wished for it. But did I think that we’d get to the that point?

  
I couldn’t help the chortle that escaped my throat.

  
“What’s so funny?”

  
“Us. All the shit we’ve been through.” I told him honestly, turning to face him, his eyes bluer than I’d ever seen them, “All the push and pull. And we’re here.”

  
“Hmm,” he responded, taking another swig of the Andre, “It’s all your fault.”

  
I cackled, “What? How?”

  
“You could’ve just given it up to Mandy and we wouldn’t be here.” He said, his eyebrows shrugging nearly as much as his shoulders.

  
“You could’ve just not stolen Kash’s gun and we wouldn’t be here.”

  
He’d made a sound of affirmation before making another of displeasure at the realization that he’d finished off the bottle of champagne.

  
I’d watched him for the better part of nine years. I was sure I’d known more about his scars and features than he did. The way his eyebrows would say what he’d wanted to when he’d had to bite his tongue. The way he’d scratch at his forehead either in distress or in a matter of letting whomever he was talking to know it wasn’t about to be pretty from then on. The way his eyes turned soft when he’d looked at me. The ‘look’ that his sister had told me about all those years ago. That look that he’d only had for me. Those same eyes that could turn so cold when someone had hurt someone he loved.

  
I’d gotten an idea in that moment, deciding that I never wanted him to forget all the beautiful things I saw and thought when I looked at him.

  
“I need a sheet of paper.”

  
He’d turned and looked at me again, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline.

  
“We’re past the point of writing vows, Gallagher.”

  
“I’m not writing vows, _Gallagher_.” I replied, gaining a snort from him. “I’ll be right back.”  
Before I could limp too far away I heard him, “No, no, gimpy. Stay there. I’ll get it.”

  
He’d moved relatively quickly, coming back with a small notepad and a fancy looking pen, “It was in the glove compartment. This blanket was in the trunk, figured we could sit for a while. Enough staring out into the fucking unknown.”

  
I gave a chuckle as he spread the blanket out.

  
_Jesus Christ, you want to spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next_?

  
Neither he nor I had no idea who the car or its contents belonged to, but they were ours for the night.

  
He’d tossed the champagne bottle in the sand by my feet on his way to get the paper, allowing me to pick it up and set it beside me as I sat down. 

  
Mickey let out a wistful breath before speaking, “We’re fucking married. We fucking did it.”

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I begin writing, my fingers moving fervently, the pen frantically stroking the paper.

  
Mickey pulled a pack of smokes out of what felt like thin air and lit up, lying back, staring at the sky. The moon wasn’t nearly as large and bright as it had been in Texas that night, but it was there, shining on us.

  
I’d continued to write, filling pages, grateful that Mickey wasn’t the type to be over my shoulder.

  
_Whatcha writing?  
Stuff, notes, ideas._

  
I’d closed my eyes at the feel of my husband’s hand making its way up my tuxedo jacket. The sun had long since set, and we both knew before long Chicago’s finest would be telling us beach was closed for the night.

  
I reread what I’d written, doing my best to proofread, the sensation of Mickey’s hands lazily moving up and down my back nearly distracting me from the task. I made minor adjustments, before ripping out the pages I’d written on, rolling them up and sliding them into the champagne bottle.

  
I’d took another gander at him. My beautiful husband. Before releasing a sure breath and grunting to a stand, reaching out for his hand.

  
“Come on, Mick.”

  
His eyes opened, the smile in them seemingly reserved for me only, “Let’s go.”

  
He’d stood, taking the blanket and shaking as much of the sand out of it as he could before folding it over his arm. I swung my arm over his shoulders, breathing that scent that was so distinctly Mickey, before kissing his temple. He’d moaned into the touch, still waking up as we’d headed up to the car. 

  
_Ian, we’re one step from the finish line._

  
We’d done it. Through all of the bullshit, through the push and pull of both of our lives, through _everything_ and _everyone_ who’d tried to come between us, we’d done it. Once Mickey had become sure of himself, he’d become certain of _us_. Then my bipolar came in and made me the uncertain one. In the midst of mania and depression, he’d been the constant. The one who was there and didn’t _have_ to be. 

  
Tears welled in my eyes when we’d reached the car. I leaned against it, pulling him to me and kissing him deeply.

  
“Thank you,” I whispered, nearly inaudibly.

  
His eyes never left mine. He reached up, wiping stray tears that were threatening to make their way down my cheeks.

  
“Don’t mention it. Now let’s go. Don’t we have to consummate the marriage or some shit?”

  
I gave a watery laugh, nodding my head and standing, allowing him to open the door for me to sit in the driver’s seat. I’d placed the bottle on the floor in the back, while Mickey threw the blanket on the seat. He’d done a reenactment of the hop into the car he’d done earlier, his hands finding the nape of my neck when he’d reached the passenger seat.

  
_Let’s ride._

  
I started the car, driving off to the Sybaris and the rest of our lives together.


	2. The First of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first anniversary rolls around and Ian gives Mickey the letter he'd written on their wedding night.

“Wake up Mick.” I hear his voice, always chipper in the morning. I grunt and close my eyes tighter. “Come on, get up.” 

“No.” 

He chuckles, the sound still warming me up from the inside out. I take a deep breath, and open my eyes. He stands, perfect as always, shirtless with a towel wrapped around his waist. How I’d gotten so lucky to have this man as my husband I’d never know, but I was grateful. 

He leans over the bed and kisses me, the spark of It still there. He pulls back, his emerald eyes holding that smile they seem to always hold for me. 

“Happy anniversary.” 

I smile at him, unable to help myself. I’d known the day was coming, but still over the moon all the same. We’d decided that we wouldn’t be exchanging gifts, but I’d ordered something for him. Another compulsion that I was unable to fight against. 

“I have something for you.” 

I close my eyes again, groaning and rolling into the pillow. I hear a thud and look at the nightstand where the champagne bottle sits. The champagne bottle that had been in the bottom of the closet since we’d gotten back from our honeymoon. 

If it could be called that. 

I don’t dwell too hard on it. Because we’d made it past it, as we had with all the other obstacles that’d tried to keep us from getting here. 

“I thought we weren’t getting anything for each other.” I speak into the pillow, gaining another chortle from him. 

Again, the sound makes my insides heat up. 

“I didn’t get you anything.” He replies, running his hands up and down my back, the motion soothing in its way. “I’ve had this for you since the night we got married.” 

I breathe in the scent of him from the pillow before turning and facing that bottle again. 

“I got you something.” 

“Now I thought— “ 

“It doesn’t matter what you thought. You’re my fuckin’ husband. It’s our first anniversary. I got you something.” I growl at him, more bite than intend before standing up, walking around him and heading to the boys’ room. 

Liam and Carl were still fast asleep, Carl snoring while Liam looking younger than his 11 years. I knew I’d have to wake them up before long, but I gather up my husband’s gift and head back to the bedroom we shared. 

I’d peered into Debbie’s room on the way, Franny snuggled close to her chest. I let the corner of my mouth turn up at the sight before continuing my journey. 

My husband’s eyes meet mine as I come through the door way. I shove the box at him, and wait for the waterworks. 

I’m not disappointed. 

“Mickey.” 

The name sounds breathed out, as he pulls out the stethoscope. Like my name is the literal air that fills his lungs. 

I couldn’t deny I feel the same about him. 

“I know you’re not a doctor or whatever.” I tell him, looking over and meeting his eyes, wide and green as I’d ever seen them. “But I also want you to know that I don’t doubt that you could be. I don’t want your diagnosis, your prison sentence, or this shitty ass neighborhood to have you doubting it either.” 

I use my knuckle to wipe the tear that’d escaped him and let him kiss me as he did in moments like these. Soft. Tender. 

Words I would have never thought applied to me before him. 

“Alright, Gallagher, what you got?” 

He chuckles at the moniker before handing me the champagne bottle that he’d sat beside me before I’d gone to get his gift. 

“You know what I have for you.” He says, sniffling in any tears that were trying to make their way out. “But I want this to be something you enjoy doing, so let’s go to the building.” 

I let out another sound of irritation, garnering a chuckle from him before he kisses me again. The feeling causing my lips to uptick. I nodded my head before looking around for something to put on. I knew my husband and knew I wouldn’t have to get too dressed up. 

We were heading to an abandoned building after all. 

“Take the .38.” 

My eyebrows go up as he gives me a smug grin, “Trust me?” 

“With my life.” I respond almost immediately, and his eyes go soft. 

He pulls me to him and kisses me deeply. If someone asked, I’d lie about the moan that escapes my throat. I lift my hand to sift through the hair at the nape of his neck, stroking the skin there. 

He pulls back seconds later, stealing one more before saying, “Hurry up.” 

I chuckled before moving my head in agreement. 

We gotten there relatively quickly, Ian carrying the champagne bottle loosely between his fingers. 

The .38 was tucked snuggly in the back of my jeans. 

Ian had told me several times that he wasn’t comfortable with me having it while being on parole, but with my father always having the possibility to walk the streets as a free man, I wasn’t giving it up. 

Eventually Ian was the one to concede. 

Ian stops at the space between the abandoned buildings, setting down the bottle on a tree stump before turning to me. 

“We haven’t been here in nearly 10 years, Mick. Well, I haven’t.” 

I sigh, thinking about the last time the two of us were here. The horrible thing that had happened to me that caused me to do horrible things to him. I was hoping that moment was the end of us. That he would just leave well enough alone and let me live the life I would have to because my father told me to. 

But he wouldn’t be my husband if he did. 

“This spot,” he continues, walking up to me and cupping my face with his hands, “This spot was the spot where I knew that I couldn’t let you go through it alone. No matter how hard you fought me.” 

His thumbs move to wipe at tear that’s trailing its way down my cheek. 

“And then my diagnosis came,” his voice becomes very soft, “In my mind everything was _okay_ , but it wasn’t. Me running from you, me chasing Monica, me doing drugs, all of it. I was a mess. But _you_ , you being you was the only thing that still made sense.” He pulls back and stands at my side, looking at me fondly. 

“Shoot the bottle.” 

“What?” I choke the word out. 

“This is the last time we’ll ever come here. Fuck this place. Neither one of us are abandoned anymore. Shoot the bottle.” 

I take a deep breath, pulling the .38 from my waistband before closing one eye and hitting slightly below the lip of bottle, shattering it, leaving what I remember to be whatever Ian had written on rainbow beach the night we’d gotten married. 

He goes and picks it up, the smug grin back on his face. 

“Happy anniversary, Mick.” 

I take the paper from him, finding a tree stump to sit on before unraveling it and beginning to read. 

_I never stood a chance, did I?_

_After that first time, I didn’t know how to feel. I knew that you couldn’t and wouldn’t tell me if you were feeling the same things that I was._

_It was after that time you came in the_ _Kash_ _N’ Grab that I knew I was smitten._

_I was bragging to Mandy about a new guy I was dealing with that was ‘not_ _Kash_ _.’_

_I noticed everything about you back then, how your eyes would light up when you made some crude joke. How you’d swipe at your forehead with your thumb when you were nervous, your lip when you’re nervous. The way you’d do both a lip swipe and a look off to your right when you’re thinking of whether you want to do it yourself, or if you’re going to use some weapon to disable someone._

_And then, that morning happened. Everything changed that morning. I know we don’t talk about it. But I want you to know that the guilt I felt that morning I carried with me all the way to the army and back and then some. I think it’s why I’ve always thought I was doing you some type of favor_ _every time_ _I've walked away._

_Because whether you want to admit it or not, I know you deserved better than me._

_You deserve someone that would’ve protected you in that moment. That would’ve risked life and limb to make sure what happened that morning didn’t happen._

_But I didn’t._

I look up at him sitting a few feet from me, knowing my eyes were the size of saucers. 

“Keep reading, Mick.” he says with a subtle nod, much like the one I'd given him years ago. 

One convincing him to sign himself over to a psychiatric hospital for 72 hours. 

Like him, I follow his directions and turn back to the paper. 

_But you chose me anyway._

_You’ve chosen me in moments when I didn’t choose you. When I haven’t even chosen myself._

_You've chosen me in the midst of marriages, diagnoses, prison sentences, parole hearings, possible homicides. You've consistently chosen me even though I'm still much less than you deserve._

_And I want you to know that I'm so grateful to call you my husband._

_I’m writing this just hours after that’s become a thing, but I want you to know I'm going to be annoying with how much I use the term._

_I'm going to earn it though. With kind words and kisses. With quiet, painful talks in the dark. With pills I take when I wake up and before I go to sleep. I'm going to earn every choice you made. I'm going to make sure you never look back and wish you'd chosen someone else._

_Thank you for choosing me, Mick. Every time. Over and over again. Thank you._

_If you catch me staring at you with a wistful smile over my face, just I'm thinking about how I get to call the man with the ocean eyes, the perfect mouth, and the biggest heart my husband._

_I love you. More than anything. And I trust you more than that._

_Happy anniversary,_

_Gallagher_

“You’re so fuckin’ gay sometimes.” I say through a watery chuckle, before getting up and kissing him with everything I have. 

It's a clash of teeth and tongue, but it’s us. 

He kisses me back, moaning into my mouth, the vibration of it letting me know that we needed to make our way somewhere to celebrate. 

“Come on, Gallagher.” 

His arm comes across my shoulders. His lips hit my hair. And I smile. 

We leave the abandoned building, and walk into year two. 

**Author's Note:**

> I purchased a book of 500 writing prompts. The first one was message in a bottle. This is the result. Thanks in advance for any comments and/or kudos!


End file.
